John Swift!-you that has as soothering a tongue in ye'r head as any one that ever left the green sod-oh, then, have you no praise to God, and no gratitude to this good lady; but ye have, John-ye have; for there never was an ungrateful drop in you-John, my darling. Sure, if I had but my two brave boys out of the churchyard, wouldn't I be the happiest woman on England's ground? It's the eldest of them would thank you, my lady, in Latin or English, or any other tongue." And then she prayed that I would come back before night, and see how comfortable John would be, like any gentleman,' with good food, good fire, and his clothes out of pawn. The poor fragile woman! every thought was for her husband, and little Micky.' Sure they could now get the strengthening food, and the Lord's great goodnessthat was the thing-the Almighty's wonderful goodness! I need not again revert to this incident: those who read my book, will readily believe that no very long time elapsed before those near relatives of my old and valued friend, Jerry Swift, were comfortably located in London, where a situation was provided for John. So true it is that the good seed is never sown in vain, and that when it has grown and fructified, its blessings are extended far as well as near. I need not say that no reward I could have given Jerry, could have gratified him so much as this 'providing' for his people. I have often pondered over the ways of Providence, by which my painful visit to Ilfracombe was made the means of saving three lives; and of obtaining for myself one of the greatest of the many sources of happiness I have ever enjoyed, for I was thus enabled to discharge a debt of gratitude, which otherwise must have remained, in part, a debt as long as I lived. But I must again ask pardon for another digression indeed I have passed through this ceremony so often that I begin to think my readers will imagine I never mean to bring my story to a close. They will, however, I am sure, forgive an old woman-whose memories come upon her, perhaps, too frequently-interrupting a narrative with which nearly all of them are so closely interwoven. My story has been far too much a 'wail:' I know it-I feel it but I cannot avoid it and I may be forgiven, therefore, for reverting to those remembrances of Irish fervency, affection and devoted zeal in heart-service, as among those with which I would fain lighten the shadows that press heavily upon me every now and then, as I think and write. 225 CHAPTER IX. "Let us be patient! These severe afflictions But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapours; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers, May be Heaven's distant lamps." LONGFELLOW. THERE are some days which, in their excess of brightness, from break of morning to the last twilight gleam of evening, seem to be double days: every minute is freighted with a sunbeam-every beauty is gemmed with light; while others are so dense and cloudy, that we VOL. III. Q appear to be wronged of our rights. Alas! this notion is not confined to the material world! It should have been bright day at five; it was murky at seven; the Capstone Hill was topped by clouds; I could not trace the flag-staff through the blinding mist. The wind at first met me with a resolve that I should not proceed; but, believing my will to be the stronger, I determined that, though opposed, I would not be overcome; and, of course, I conquered. The sea was wild with rage; on they came-those wonderful water mountains; on, steadily, yet rampant and fierce. I felt myself shrinking back as far as the rock permitted, with instinctive terror lest they should really leap the parapet, and bear me away with them for ever; but the law had been given, and it was obeyed: 'So far shalt thou go, and no farther.' I grasped an elbow of projecting cliff, more steadily to resist the gusts of wind that rushed upon me; and, holding with the other hand over my bonnet the shawl which the kind |